The Great Depression
by liondancer17
Summary: Headcanon: Between WW1 and WW2, in the height of the Great Depression, America fell into a coma, waking just a year before Pearl Harbour. Pairings: AmeBel, mentions CanUkr.


A/N

This is my head-canon that this is based off of. Between WW1 and WW2, during the height of the Great Depression, America fell into a coma. It lasted until just a year before Pearl Harbor.

I don't own Hetalia.

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All of them, the ones who cared for the Idiot Hero, expressed grief in different ways.

Every year, more presents were added to the ever growing pile underneath the windowsill. Every birthday, every Christmas, and sometimes, for no apparent reason at all, Finland, Sweden, and occasionally Hanatamago, stopped by. Always with a present wrapped in the same, cheerful Christmas wrapping paper. Finland would place it in the pile, which was swiftly becoming a mountain, and talk. Sweden would occasionally add in a soft word or two, but Finland would continue talking over the swede's gentle sentiments. It was always about life, how Christmas was coming, how Svriege does the most adorable things, how beautiful the snow is, and how much Denmark and Prussia miss the third member of the Awesome Trio. The meetings would always end the same. Finland would gently brush aside America's growing, limp, blonde bangs, giving fatherly kiss to America's head (because, really, no matter what anyone thought, America was his son as well), Sweden would give a gentle pat to the sleeping American's head, and they would leave, promising to return again. They always did.

Every single day, no matter what happened, Canada would always stop by his brother's room. The empty, splintering silence was always filled with his gentle, tentative voice, as Canada told his twin everything. Matthew would speak about his day, about his (almost attempt at) flirting with Ukraine, and just about life in general. The one day he wasn't able to make it, he had broken down in tears, apologizing again and again to his brother for abandoning him. Of course, America couldn't hear him, and even if he could, he wouldn't have minded. But...that wasn't what mattered to the Canadian.

He didn't want his brother to wake up alone, the same way he had fallen asleep...

Alone, surrounded by nothing but blackness and pain.

Of course, he didn't remain that way.

When England heard, he went into denial, the Brit at first was convinced that America was playing a sick prank.

But a day turned into a week, a week turned into a month, and a month turned into a year, and one year turned into more...

When it finally dawned onto Arthur that Alfred wasn't going to wake up, he snapped. He screamed and raged and cried, yelling, demanding, begging his son to awaken and smile at him. He had to be restrained by France and Canada, so he wouldn't attack the already comatose American. Finally, breaking down into sobs, he fell to the American's bedside, begging in soft, quiet whispers for the idiot to "please...please...please wake up..."

Unlike Canada, Francis and Arthur only visited sometimes. Not because they loved America less than Canada. No, quite the opposite. They simply couldn't bear to see the boy they loved, the boy who danced in the rain and loved life, never smile, never open his sky-coloured eyes.

Lithuania, Hong Kong, Australia, Denmark, and sometimes (rarely, though, since he wasn't allowed to interact such a _shcweinhund_-loving country) Prussia visited as well, usually with flowers and gentle words to say to their friend, and their brother. These visits were rare, but loved, because America always seemed to relax with the warmth of his friends.

There was one last visitor, though.

Every night, when the rest had left, she would come. She would sit by his bed, cradle his face gently in her white hands, and cry. Resting her head on his chest, she would whispers apologies, she would whisper angry words, demanding to know why he had left her, why he had broken his promise. Every night, without fail, Natalya Arvloskya would visit, just to make sure he was still alive. She hated him, she hated him with all of her being, for making her love him, then leave her.

Sometimes, she saw his eyes flutter, just enough to catch a slit of sky-blue eyes.

After America awoke, he often spoke of seeing an angel watching over him in his sleep.

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A/N Please review~!


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